Destruction Timetable
by notis
Summary: Her happiness felt almost athletic.


The pain, it was nothing new.

That's not to way it didn't sap, nearly entirely, the energy from her. No, Santana was slumped over that too clean, first day of school desk like someone who had only half the bones their body required.

Her right hand throbbed. She remembered, indistinctly, pawing at and then slamming her fist into a particularly aggravating palm tree. Noah had pulled her off, but if you ask her, that tree had it coming. Arrogant fronds.

The students filtered in, and she realized she had been one of the first to arrive. She almost chuckled, aimless hangover wanderings never having done anything for her punctuality. Then she recalled the stillness of her kitchen, usually so lively, and remembered why she had hurried out after stumbling down the stairs. Who's to say there are no positives to a late in marriage divorce?

She reached into her pea coat pocket and fished out a bottle of Ibuprofen. She attempted to open it with just her left, only fuctioning hand, and managed to fail spectacularly, the bottle popping out of her grasp and rolling along the floor under her seat.

"Fuck me." She grumbled, scooting back with a sigh to look at the floor.

"Oh, hey." A voice interrupted both her headache and her unimproving mood, "I got you."

A blonde leaned down and ungracefully ducked her head under the two person desk. Grasping for the bottle, she got a hold on it and drew it out, carefully navigating her head from under the table. "Here." The girl gingerly held it out to Torrance.

"Okay." Santana mumbled, taking it and looking at the bottle then the girl. Green eyes. "I mean, yeah." She shook her head and worked again at opening the bottle, this time with her mouth. Success. She tipped a few pills out and drew them off the table into her uninjured palm, tossing no less than four of them in her mouth.

The girl watched her with a nearly cocked eyebrow. "Want water?"

Santana shook her head nearly imperceptibly and threw her head back gently, looking at the ceiling. She sighed, and kept her head that way until the instructor's voice cut through her thoughts, and she drew her mind away from that empty kitchen.

"You look like you got steamrolled, man!" Noah sounded delighted, pulling up in front of the campus. She glared at him and gingerly climbed into his pick up truck. "Lemme see that hand."

She managed to glare at him and hold out her slightly bruised and scraped right hand for him to inspect. He looked over it, touched it gently, then delivered a tiny kiss to her knuckles.

"You're insane, you know. You take anything?"

She shrugged. "Few of the ibu you stashed in my coat. Feel like shit. Grab another beer, yeah?" Santana attempted to flex her hand and felt only a shooting pain. "Maybe if it still hurts, doctor. That seems smart."

Noah laughed but nonetheless put the truck in gear and floored it in the direction of the nearest liquor store. They both knew Lima like the back of their hands. In her case, the back of their gnarled, scraped up, palm tree defacing hand.

"How was your first day of actual, real city college?" Noah mused, taking a left turn.

She ignored the smirk on his face so she wouldn't think her answer was for him. "Shitty."

Sociology seemed like a crock of shit. Honestly. It was only her second day and she already regretted defiantly telling Britt that it seemed 'interesting' and 'fuck you, I can be good at whatever.' That still held true, but maybe a requisite math class would have been more up her alley. She could work formulas 'til the cows came home.

She sat in the same seat. Figuring she would have to write this day, she was attempting a scribble in left hand, then, shaking her head, switched it to right. Suffering through it seemed the name of the game. She practiced her name with her already aching hand.

"Shit."

"Can't remember how to spell your name?"

She snapped her head and saw the same Ibuprofen saving blonde from yesterday.

"Can't remember your manners?" Santana snapped back, though, tired, not as viciously as she normally would.

"Well, you know." The blonde just shrugged and kind of turned to her own side. Santana noted her profile, nearly perfect, but managed to glare at it.

"You know?" She repeated, condescendingly, but that was that. Santana sat, now just staring at her pen, while the blonde organized her things and prepared them for the day.

"Stupid morning classes." Santana mumbled, shifting in her seat.

"You seem...upset." The blonde noted dryly.

"Well. Little do you know." Santana sighed, looking away, and waited for class to start.

"I'm beat." Tina kicked her feet up on the living room table.

"You've been singning and dancing all day, I don't wanna hear your shit." Santana grumped, shoving a spoonful of cheese fries into her mouth. "That is cake compared." She threw a notebook full of notes at the girl.

"Two days, who knew community college was the trenches?" Noah came in brandishing an even bigger, cheesier bowl of fries.

"Fuck you all. You're in a band and you're still in high school. Where the fuck is Britt so she can show me up?" Santana looked around.

"Who knows, she's so busy with Berkeley, I don't think we'll ever see her shimmy again." Noah shrugged. "That genius bitch. Who woulda called it?"

Santana almost shook her head. Almost. She almost said she had to go home soon, then remembered no one was waiting up for her.

"Damnit." Santana was doing that thing where you're not running to class, but you're walking so fast you just look stupid. Yet, she refused to run. Pushing open the doors discreetly to her first day of class, she glanced inside.

The teacher was droning on. Most seats were full, and then she spied a blonde head with an empty seat next to it. She slunk in, hoping to go unnoticed. She had overslept.

"Miss..."

The instructor called out to her, clearly not knowing her name but wanting to embarrass her nonetheless.

"Jones..." Santana spoke up.

"Jones?" The instructor scoured her notes. "Jones, Jones..."

"Nebraska." Santana supplies uselessly, slipping into the seat next to the blonde girl, who cleared off a scattered tabletop for her.

"Nebraska Jones..." The intructor echoed.

Santana almost laughed. "She'll have your nose, don't you know." She whispered discreetly under her breath.

The teacher sighed, throwing aside the attendance record, saying, "Yes, yes..." and going on with the lesson.

Santana almost missed a small giggle from the green eyed girl next to her, which normally would have meant she would also have missed the look the girl gave her. Which, nearly managing to smile at the blonde, she was glad she didn't.


End file.
